Not Done Yet

I’m not done yet.

I’m not done becoming, growing, learning, discovering, adventuring. I’m not done becoming myself. I’m not done because there is no such thing.

All together now: there is no such thing as being “done.”

This is an unnerving, even frightening idea and it’s also an exhilarating one.

It’s both unnerving and exhilarating because I get to decide.

I get to decide where to go, who to be with, what to read, what to say, what to feel and  how much more to stretch my mental, physical, emotional and spiritual capacity. I get to decide all of that.

I’m not done yet. And I get to decide what to do about it.



The Consolation of Completion

I am a master of getting things done. Sometimes, it’s even stuff that has to do with my  growth, learning and development as a human being.

I am a master of knocking out the dishes, wiping the counters clean, spinning over to the couch to fold the laundry. I am a master of getting that laundry distributed and put away. I am a master at mowing, edging and weed pulling. I am a master at unpacking my bag after a trip, dirty clothes in the basket, clean clothes hung up or put away.

I am a master at doing all of the things that have a clear beginning, middle and end.

Checking those things off my list feels fantastic. It fills me with feelings of pride and the clear knowledge of having made a contribution to my household and family.

Every single one of those things is important. And every single one of those things is a convenient hiding place from the real work of becoming the better version of myself that I aspire to be.

That work cannot be charted on a task list but only on the pages of a much bigger book, messy scribbles writing a messy story, one that keeps inviting me back to make a bigger mess and to trust that the mess, the incompleteness is, in fact, the evidence of becoming.

Everything else is consolation.

fish eye photography of man holding gray cup

Photo by Wendelin Jacober on


You Have to Let Go

There is no version of going forward, of growing toward the next best version of your work, your relationships or your self that does not require letting go.

Getting “there” requires letting go of your hard-earned beliefs about “here.”

Those beliefs once served you well, now they only stand in your way.

Let them go. Let them go. Let them go.

Stand in the space between what you’ve been and finally trust, beyond your brilliant cognitive sense-making self, that this becoming place is exactly where you belong.

brown floor tiles

Photo by sum+it on

Actors in Our Own Becoming

Everyone is in the process of becoming.

The deeply personal reality of that truth is that each of us has the agency to influence the course of that becoming. We operate along a spectrum, always deciding in small ways and large whether and how to embrace the discomfort of change at one end or the comforting discomfort of the status quo at the other.

Stasis shadows our becoming through the consolation of a sense of permanence. The familiarity of our patterns, the seduction of having arrived, the temptation to believe we are done; these serve to bind our anxiety about the unknown but must, finally succumb to the truth that nothing stays as it is.

Between the boundaries of stasis and mutability is the space in which we are free to decide not if but how and what we will become. Like moving water, it as a conversation that is always flowing, one that does not demand but always welcomes our participation.

water of life

Photo by Samad Deldar on